


in truths that she learned or the times that he cried

by AnguishofMyLove



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Gumball having enough of Marshall's dang shit, M/M, Marshall Lee being kind of philosopher-y but mostly being a dick, but that's ok, probably trying too hard, that's to be expected of me, this is me trying a hell lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnguishofMyLove/pseuds/AnguishofMyLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he doesn’t have all the time in the world, he thinks he would gladly spend half of all those miniscule seconds giddily watching the red rush up the prince’s face in maybe anger. (And even though he did, he still thinks the same.) (He doesn’t really dwell on these thoughts, and whether or not it’s a conscious effort is no one’s business but his.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	in truths that she learned or the times that he cried

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [We Are All Embers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/399152) by [skyline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline). 



> i would quite obviously title this with rent lyrics there was no other choice u.u
> 
> heavily inspired by my old favorite fics (particularly [this absolutely beauty](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7532045/1/We-Are-All-Embers) which everyone should read if you're fine reading big time rush because it is absolutely brilliant even if i'm a little iffy on some parts)
> 
> i thought of writing this in marceline's or bubblegum's point of view but i figured i wanted to look into gumball and marshall's dynamic so
> 
> (i tried it first with gumball but it didn't seem right to me so)

There are 24 hours in a day. It doesn’t sound as impressive as it probably really is. But if you think about how many minutes there are in each hour? That would mean a total of 1,440 minutes in just one day. And that would mean a total of 86,400 seconds in just one day.

That’s…think about it.

Marshall didn’t use to think about it, but a spiel from Cake (“yo, like, _just this second_ , I spent 60 seconds just lying down, _what_ ,”) and now it’s something that’s come back to him time and time again. He’s immortal and doesn’t need to worry about wasting 600 seconds just heading out to terrorize Lumpy Space Prince, but sometimes he looks at his guitar and plucks it every second, like a well-tuned clock ticking its time away. He plucks it faster, and then slower, just imagining time mending to time itself with his song, but if there’s one thing Marshall can’t manipulate, it’s time.

Eventually he stops this mindless game because Marshall is everything but a philosopher. Just the thought of it makes him want to punch himself in the face.

And so he flies to the Candy Castle, because nothing brings him as much joy as watching His Pinkiness flush even greater (makes his fangs ache even more in calling, but he ignores those half the time), and he hears the steady thumping of his guitar a second at a time. He thinks he should make a song about it, maybe, something about the 86,400 seconds ticking at a day, the 2,678,400 seconds passing by in a month, the 31,536,000 seconds a year—and if Marshall was mortal, he would feel the chills running up his spine, all the things he could do but can’t because 60 seconds just passed and it is then he feels the fang along his mouth in something not quite comfort.

If he doesn’t have all the time in the world, he thinks he would gladly spend half of all those miniscule seconds giddily watching the red rush up the prince’s face in maybe anger. (And even though he did, he still thinks the same.) (He doesn’t really dwell on these thoughts, and whether or not it’s a conscious effort is no one’s business but his.)

It takes him 849 seconds to reach one of the castle’s windows, large and grandiose and as pink as the rest of the castle, and open enough he can hear the inside. It takes him 15 seconds to find His Royal Bubbliness with that small butler. Peppermint Butler is facing away from the vampire, only the back of her coat and skirt and the solid white and red stripes peaking through can be seen from Marshall’s vantage point, but that isn’t at all where his dark eyes are focused on.

He crouches down, even if he can’t really be seen in the dark of the early night, even with his red shirt, and listens to the silent tune of the time passing by, unconsciously _tap tap tapping_ to its beat.

The butler eventually bows goodnight to Her Majesty, and Marshall smiles his bright, great ( _sadistic_ ) smile. (Prince) Gumball fusses over the curtains of one of the windows—one of the only rooms in the castle that does have them (the other being the bathroom, quite obviously). He closes each curtain—not really slowly, but perhaps leisurely, with the grace and the patience of a man who knows, just as Marshall, how long his life is and will continue to be. (Marshall wonders if Gumball realizes he has spent 231 seconds just doing this, wonders if it even really matters to him.)

(He thinks it would, it’s the kind of thing someone like Gumball would think about, but he also thinks it might not be something worth really worrying about for someone _like_ Gumball, who has lived almost as long as he and someone who is secure in the kind of person he is.)

(He doesn’t really care about that last part.)

(Except how he is, sometimes, in the darkness of the night where only the light of his eyes could be seen.)

Marshall idly wonders if he should fly over to a window closer to the candy prince but figures, with the ticking of the up and down song of time, it’s a few minutes—hundreds of seconds—he can afford to lose. He drops his chin on an open palm and waits with a patience he may or may not truly have, impish smile remaining in place.

It’s another 228 seconds before the prince catches him at the corner of his eyes, four windows away from Marshall’s propped up face.

His eyebrows scrunch down, just a little, and he asks, “what are you doing here?”

“Yo, chill, Your Girliness,” Marshall instructs, body turning upside down to lie down on a nonexistent bed. “Just dropping by to see the face of our most loved prince.”

Gumball rolls his eyes, and Marshall drinks the waves of distaste with satisfaction. He opens the window wider and flies inside in an almost graceful arc.

Gumball sighs heavily, “Marshall Lee, please leave,” and continues closing the curtains.

“Aww, don’t be like that, baby,” he leers, mostly because he knows it irritates Gumball even more. “Just call me Marshall.” He yanks on a strand of hair.

Gumball makes an annoyed sound, swatting his hand away. “Don’t you have other people to piss off?”

“Ooh, harsh words from a lovely prince,” Marshall responds. He flies through the room and the curtains open mightily.

“What the heck, Marshall?” Gumball bites. “What did you do that for?”

“It’s a beautiful night,” Marshall answers, very matter-of-factly. “Enjoy the stars with me.”

He swoops in to grab Gumball by the waist, not waiting for a response, and drags the protesting prince to one of the windows. The crown clangs to the ground noisily, and Gumball squawks just as loudly. He figures Gumball can’t really see the sky when it’s covered by his back, but he figures the sentiment was reached. He pats the other’s knee happily. “There, isn’t that beautiful?”

Gumball groans and pushes against Marshall’s own knees, making the vampire buckle uselessly. “Put me down!”

Marshall just laughs.

He looks at the stars, drawing shapes and lines and words along the explosion of lights. He wonders if Gumball memorizes the constellations and the stars—except he doesn’t really wonder because he’s as sure as any that he does, and mostly wonders if it’s something he would share with the vampire king.

 _Probably not_ , and Marshall chuckles.

“What are you laughing at, brute?” Gumball remarks stiffly.

“Your cute, pink bubbly butt.” Marshall quips, patting said butt delicately.

Gumball thrashes more vigorously and Marshall laughs harder. “Don’t—unf—be like that, Prin-cess.” Gumball, in a stroke of (bad) luck manages to throw a solid kick on Marshall’s knee and Marshall yelps (mostly in surprise, he consoles himself) but it doesn’t make his grip on Gumball loosen at all. “Princess, I never knew you were so vicious.”

Gumball humphs loudly and yanks Marshall’s shirt up, but before the vampire could comment on Gumball’s surprise promiscuity, he takes an aggressive bite on the gray skin.

“ _FUCK!_ ” And Gumball is dropped to the ground.

“ _AUGH!_ Fuck fuckfuck fuck fuck fuckfuck _fuck_ ,” Marshall hisses, circling around to look for the patch of skin Gumball bit. Gumball doesn’t know why he’s going so crazy, he can already see the skin—at least, in the quick flashes of it—healing back to its pasty color.

By the time Marshall stops, sighing when he’s confirmed that Gumball hasn’t passed any disease, Gumball’s patting and flattening his coat, crown placed primly on his head again.

“Wow, Gummie,” Marshall leers again, and Gumball’s brow twitches visibly, “You’re not only vicious, you’re _kinky_.”

Gumball turns to him with a face twisted so hard that Marshall feels glee traveling up his spine.

“What are you doing here, Marshall?” he asks bitingly.

“Just visiting my favorite princess of course,” Marshall responds, upbeat. His legs move up and he places his chin delicately on top of his palm, posing as if on a surface—a couch, or a bed, or a table (but nobody really wants to think about that, least of all Prince Gumball, but Marshall would beg to differ). He smiles, quick and easy, and says, just as quick and easy, “no one has the most tasteful pink on them quite like you.” And even though he doesn’t outright lick his fangs, the two men are no less aware of them now.

Gumball—and this is what Marshall loves oh so much about the other, what he doesn’t regret having spent 49,746 seconds of his time on, because Gumball doesn’t turn to fear or unease, doesn’t pale in horror, and instead—flushes that beautiful shade of almost-red in indignation. He barely has his mouth open before Marshall swoops in and runs his fingers along his cheeks.

“Mm, yes, exactly that,” Marshall sneers, only half joking, “won’t you let me taste your pink, _Your Majesty_?”

Gumball swats his hand away again and glares at him sharply. Marshall doesn’t drop his leer but lets the other step away, loving too much the frustration coming from Gumball. He moves his finger around, tracing invisible circles.

(Gumball breathes, reminding himself it would do no good to legitimately hurt the vampire king, as satisfying as it may be, or even as much as the taller may or may not deserve it. Gumball knows that, if he really wants to, he could keep Marshall Lee away from him, or at least keep him away at a safe enough distance. Marshall himself is perfectly aware of this and this is another fact that only pushes him to harass Gumball even more, a game that none of them will ever call pulling of pigtails.)

“Stop harassing me, Marshall,” Gumball says.

Marshall drifts closer, just a little, and replies, “please, Gummie, we both know what would happen if I crossed your _real_ lines.”

Gumball turns swiftly, heading out of the room, and Marshall floats along lazily, easy grin in place as he turns and crosses his arms below his head. Gumball feels a finger twitch in response but he makes no other remarks on Marshall’s actions.

“You know so much about me,” Gumball comments, voice to callous to be impassive. “Why are you so intent on me? How _much_ could you love _pink_?”

Marshall stills for a moment, face frozen in shock, but his face relaxes as quickly as it stiffened, he flies in front of Gumball, uncaring of where they’re headed to and what his back could possibly hit. He lifts his arms higher on each side, gracefully moving as his body positions into a stance reminiscent of a ringmaster. _And here, ladies and gentlemen…_

“You’d be surprised what a vampire could do just for food.”

 _I would spend 15,768,000 seconds a year for you_ , he thinks idly, _and probably more_.

Gumball flushes darker in even more frustration and he sidesteps Marshall. “The night may be _your_ time, Marshall, but it is not mine. _It is late_ ,” and Marshall can hear the italics in each letter then, “and I would very much want to just rest. _Please_ , for the last time. Leave me. Alone.”

Marshall hums, not really pondering on the request but merely stretching the time. He taps his finger on his cheek a second at a time. One second, two seconds, three seconds, six seconds, nine seconds, fifteen seconds. Gumball could be gritting his teeth or he could be basking in the silence. He could be neither. It only half matters to Marshall really, and before it hits twenty seconds, he stops tapping and says, “but won’t you let me have even just the littlest bit of pink?”

“ ** _No_**.” Gumball’s answer is loud, firm, but the littlest bit rough and Marshall Lee smiles and hovers higher.

 _I would spend 15,768,000 seconds more_.

(It is roughly three weeks later, which would mean about 1,800,000 seconds have passed, when a small box, teal with the most gentle baby blue ribbon, is found by Marshall’s table. When he opens it, he finds three strawberries with the most gorgeous red.

But what’s underneath those is a modest dollop of pink and it is what makes Marshall smile.

He finds his guitar, thrums G to the beat of each second, getting faster and faster and imagining the world speeding up, the ground on his feet moving to the speed of his guitar.)

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post found here](http://rainbowbarfeverywhere.tumblr.com/post/88085023384/in-truths-that-she-learned-or-the-times-that-he-cried)  
>  (i forgot to add this ;P)
> 
>  
> 
> i don't really watch adventure time so this might be off ;P


End file.
